Toby sat in his cell still reeling from his wife's visit "That uppity little witch" he mumbled to himself. "If she thinks she can come in here and talk to me like that she's wrong" He picked up his book and pulled a small device out of the hollowed out part of it.
"A quick call to my boys on the outside to cook up a little trouble should fix her." Toby heard the warden come in the cell block and quickly put away the device.
"Well Toby you sure are popular today." The warden said as he walked up. "And how is that?" toby asked. "Somebody here to see you" "If it's my wife tell that witch to go away." Toby shot as he turned back to his book. "Why, Mr. Macalister I just met your wife and she's actually quite the charming lady." Toby sat up a little surprised. "And who in the bloody hell are you." Toby put his book away and stood so to look agent Howe in the eye.
"I'm agent Howe, with the O.S.I, the office of secret intelligence." Howe met Toby's glare with his own. The main difference between the two stares was that Howe didn't seem to blink.
"The day to day routine of Toby Macalister III," Howe red off a paper he had in a folder. "The subject wakes up then does five hundred sit-ups, push-ups, and chin-ups all before breakfast." Howe stopped to look up. "That's one intense work out you got there." "Well it's kind of the only thing to do here," Toby rolled up his sleeve and flexed. "Look at that all human muscle, the result of hard work, not alien genetics."
"Wow, you have real problem with your wife but don't worry many men have an inferiority complex." Toby growled as he rolled down his sleeve. "What are you a bloody therapist?" "No, but I am interested in your story," Howe closed the folder and pulled up a chair.
"Tell me how a smart guy like you ends up here?" "Hump, my story no one ever cares about that, alright sit tight and here the story of a lonely boy."
With that Toby narrated his life story: 'When I was five my father left us. He wouldn't say where he was going but he promised he would come back. That was the last time anyone ever saw him.
When I was eight I made a bomb out of a DVD player, my mother was so angry when it blew up in my face and took off my eye brows. When I was 10 I realized I had dark gift. My creations we're built only for killing but that wasn't my intention. I just wanted to help people, make things to help humanity not destroy the world.
Then she showed up and all of a sudden nothing I could do as a human, a mere mortal, was good enough. As much as I hated her, I couldn't help falling in love with her.
Our relationship stayed at the level of an on again off again grade school crush. Until junior year when mother became ill, we didn't have the money for her treatment. I tried to steal it with my robots but word girl would show up and stop me like always.
She and I had made a game of our go 'rounds but I was done playing, I had too much at stake. I turned to the other side of the criminal world.
The side I was on was the side of killer robots and death rays; the other was drugs, gangs, and men in tailor made suits that made crooked deals in offices. The kind of crime that word girl didn't concern herself with.
I could do all the dirty deeds I wanted and keep it a secret. A friend of mine got me in the drug game, and gun running with my army of robot enforcers. I very easily took over the syndicate I worked for. I started a business with my drug money that made weapons and pharmaceuticals.
It was a front for what I really did; I used the weapons manufacturing arm of the business to make WMDs for my arms dealing racket, and the pharmaceuticals mass produced for my drug ring. Money came with ease and no one knew what I did to get it, not even Becky.
When I needed to I'd send my guys to the other side of town to cause a ruck, sometimes my robots or the whammer, amazing rope guy, or Ms. Question to keep her away from the big shipments.
When we got married it was a decadent affair. I remember finding out she was pregnant, her dad came to my house and yelled it at me, he was clutching something in his hand, I think it was a gun. He said he'd make me marry her, something I planned on anyway.
We lived well, until her reporter friend started investigating me. He linked me to arms in the Middle East and Africa. He also uncovered my drug ring that flooded the streets with experimental drugs; narcs had been working the case for a year now.
He brought my empire crashing down around my head and had the feds breathing down my neck. Becky didn't catch on till I had scoops green lighted to be killed. That's when she crashed into my office and broke my nose.
My trial was fantastic everyone who worked for me pointed me out. Luckily I had a great lawyer and a judge in my pocket. Ten years was all they could give me, ten years in a maximum security hotel room that the tax payers paid for. God I love America, a place where criminals are treated like kings.
When I got out Becky took me back but vowed that if I didn't get my life together she'd leave and I'd never see my boy again. I tried maybe not hard enough, because here I am again.
I just couldn't stay away from that life. Not because I don't care about my family, their why I do anything. I can't support them any other way. That's why I turned back to this life.
I had my cartel back up a running in days, but she was on to me this time. The moment it was clear what I was doing she was breathing down my neck, ready to take me down.
There was no buying my way out this time, I got 25 to life, and that's how I ended up here talking to you. Toby ended his story and looked up at Howe waiting on him to say something.
"Toby what if I told you I could get your sentence reduced to time served, and all you would have to do is serve your country," A stern look took over his face. "Like your father did back in the day." Toby's eyes widen with shock.
"That's right I knew your father he was an agent of MI-6, and I can tell you he didn't abandon you, he died in the field." Toby clenched his fist "Alright I'm in what do I have to do?" "Nothing much just join a team I'm putting together to go on some missions."
Toby looked over his glasses at Howe. "What's the catch, 'cause I get the feeling there's something you're not telling me." A smirk crawled across his face. "The only stipulation is you have to survive our suicidal missions." Toby adjusted his glasses and let his usual 'I'm a know it all sneer'. "You had me at suicidal."